


history's longest suicide note

by opensummer



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Apocalypse, Multi, OT3, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, also they keep being weirdly domestic with each other, i would call it soft apocalypse but it's really not, its about people being soft in the apocalypse, ot3: yes fuck you, there's a difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opensummer/pseuds/opensummer
Summary: It takes them a year to realize they're fucked.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright my dears I don’t know what this is, or how long it’s going to be or even where it will end up. When I first started writing it I though the whole thing would be 8 to 10k max. I’ve now written 15k and they’ve barely left the castle which means this is going to be both the longest thing I’ve ever written and the first multichapter I feel about finishing. 
> 
> Anyway, episode 8 never happened and Alucard, Sypha, and Trevor are in love and also the apocalypse is happening.
> 
> Chapters range between 2-3k, perspectives rotate between the ot3, and I intend to update every Wednesday until this thing is done. 
> 
> We’ll see how that works out.

It takes them a year to realize they’re fucked.

* * *

But first, victory. 

It’s Belmont, surprisingly, who reaches out and takes Alucard’s hand. 

The light of Sypha’s fires is reflected on her face, her soft hands outstretched. Ash, Alucard’s father’s ashes swirling about her. So Trevor takes his hand, orders him to release the bedpost and leads him from the bedroom of his childhood.

He isn’t gentle with Alucard, using more force than is strictly necessary to pull him forward and when he draws even with Belmont, a rough hand between his shoulder blades to propel him but this too is a mercy. Belmont being gentle with him would be forced, unnatural. 

The leave the room and follow the corridor down until they come to a nook untouched by the fighting and Alucard can no longer hear the crackle of fire over the roaring in his ears. Belmont shoves him against the wall, orders him to sit. He collapses against it, undignified in his grief and Trevor slides down the wall beside him, a mere inch of space between them, close enough to touch. He buries that impulse and cradles his face in his hands. 

Alucard breathes. It’s unnecessary. 

He does it anyway. 

Trevor quietly, slowly shifts until he’s pressed against Alucard’s side, a long line of heat and pressure grounding him.

He loses track of time, focusing on Trevor’s breathing beside him. 

He can feel the moment Trevor drifts off beside him. Feels his head drift sideways until it is resting on his shoulder. There’s a wheeze in Belmonts breath that corresponds to the ribs his father broke and he should get up. Find Sypha, have her heal Belmont’s ribs, start piecing himself back together from the shattered remains of Adrien Tepes.

Instead, selfishly, he allows the enemy of his people to nap on his shoulder, and drifts. 

When he stirs, it’s false dawn and the world is colourless. Sypha found them sometime in the night and is propped against the wall opposite, dozing. 

She’s bandaged the claw marks on her arm, washed the dirt and soot from her face. The tattered remains of her robe is tucked behind his head, and she’s shivering in her undershirt.

That more than anything finally compels him to move. 

His mother would have scolded him for leaving guests to sleep on the floor. His father would have laughed, until he realized that one of them was a Belmont. Neither bears thinking about right now.

He pulls away from Trevor carefully so he doesn’t wake, and wraps Sypha in her robes before he summons his sword with a thought.

Surely there is still _something_ in this castle that he can kill. 

Sypha and Belmont find him on the top of the highest tower, shortly after color has came back into the world, brought by the rising sun. It’s not quite over the horizon and he’s facing the stained glass, treated by his father so the sun cannot harm them. He’s thinking of hurling himself through that window. 

Weakened as he is by the fight, the dawn and the fall would finish him. 

He would ask how they found him but he’s left a trail of carnage through the castle wide enough that a blind man could follow, his fathers monsters, a handful of vampires left by the nobility, torn apart. 

Trevor’s breathing is less labored, but he can still scent blood on both of them, his father’s mixed with their own, hours old, dried and tacky on the air. He refuses to look at them, to confirm what he already knows, that they live and breathe and share none of his anguish. 

Trevor stands back, allowing Sypha to close on where he stands, panting, covered in blood that is mostly not his own. She rests a hand on his shoulder, more a gesture of acknowledgement than support.

“Better violence than grief.” Alucard says, not turning his head. He’s afraid of what he’ll see if he looks at her now. 

She makes a soft noise, low in her throat, pained, and wraps her arms around him from behind. He can hear Trevor close on them but the hand on his shoulder is still a surprise.  

They greet the dawn like that; standing tall, together, bloody and tired but so alive. 

Alucard understands then, that this is how he would spend all his days, if given the choice. He’s not so foolish as to express the sentiment aloud.

* * *

 

When the sun is fully over the horizon, Trevor’s stomach grumbles, breaking the moment. Sypha shoves him off, ordering him to find food, and Alucard finally stirs, his mother’s lessons on hospitality too engrained to ignore, the sudden fearful knowledge of their mortality too much to dismiss. 

He left them vulnerable in his father’s home, asleep, to vent his grief. Alucard knows the monsters that stalk these halls, knows that would have no problem devouring any prey foolish enough to leave itself unguarded. He had no thought of them too full of hate and grief and abruptly understands his father a little better. 

He leads them to the kitchens, with only a handful of skirmishes in between, all monsters easily dispatched and shows Trevor the pantry, before collapsing at the broad wooden table. Sypha slumps beside him, pulling her robe over her head to use as a pillow and shield from the light, and is softly snoring within minutes. 

This is familiar after a mere week of traveling with them. Trevor makes breakfast while Alucard and Sypha fumble through the morning, snapping at the world until he presses camp mugs of coffee into their hands, a kettle of the stuff left over the fire to acquire the sort of strength that would kill a demon.

(And had on their third day of travel when they were ambushed and Sypha had unthinkingly yielded the kettle as a bludgeon. The mournful noise she had made when she realized that the coffee was ruined had Trevor in hysterics until her second swing nearly took his head off.)

They’ve subsisted on hardtack, jerky, and coffee the past week, taking what supplies the people of Gresit and the Speakers could spare, moving too quickly to hunt or trade for supplies. Still the noise Trevor makes at seeing his father's full pantry is obscene. 

But then Alucard has never known hunger until this week, shielded from the world as he was by his parents wealth, and the nature of his body. 

Trevor leaves the coffee for last in deference to Sypha’s slumber, boiling water, toasting bread, frying ham and eggs, juggling the lot with easy movements. He adds the grinds from a packet retrieved from his pack and wafts the scent to her with an amused grin, planting a mug beside her head. She lifts her head groggily, eyes closed through sipping the first half of the cup, while Trevor hands Alucard a mug of his own, then heads back to the fire to plate the food, pour the coffee into a carafe, and finds silverware in the drawers. She’s almost conscious by the time he hauls it all back to them, and Alucard’s sense of unreality has faded, replaced by the warmth of the coffee. 

They eat in silence that does not feel strained. 

Trevor is no great cook but the food is warm and unburnt, filling after the last week.

When they’re done, Alucard rises automatically to deal with the dishes, a compromise agreed upon when his companions realized that he’d never cooked before, but Sypha catches his arm and he allows her to pull him back to the bench.

“We need a plan,” She says, “and now is the best time for it.”

Trevor after a moment of studying Sypha, starts another pot of coffee.

“The castle is going to be a problem.” He says when he’s refilled the carafe and their mugs. “As is the library. The castle will need to be cleared and moved if you know how to Alucard? Someplace out of reach of those who would use it. And we’ll need a way to seal the library against the weather and attacks.”

“I know how to move the castle.” The words stick in his throat but- “My father used to let me make a game of it.”

Sypha nods, leaning into a hand. “I can make a temporary shield for the library, keep it safe until we’ve dealt with the castle.”

“There’s a way of shifting the castle outside of reality. It would put it beyond the reach of anyone who wished to use it. I want it forgotten, the knowledge lost, my father’s armies scattered.” Alucard says, finally angry the way he’d been expecting since his father died.

“That can be done from outside the castle?” she asks, eyes lighting up with curiosity. 

“There’s a way to leave after it’s done. The passage closes behind the person who moved it and won’t open to anybody but family.” He hesitates and adds, “Everything currently in the castle would be sealed in.”

“We should still clear it before we tuck it away.” Trevor says, surprisingly. When Alucard eyes him, he expands exasperated, “It’s your inheritance Alucard. Just because you don’t want it now doesn’t mean you never will.”

He nearly loses his temper then, _almost_ demands to know what Trevor knows of loss, how it feels to be the sole survivor of his family, before the image of the empty library rises in his mind. He swallows those bitter words and nods sharply, too angry to speak. 

Sypha must see some of that in his face, as she volunteers Belmont to retrieve their gear from the library, and sets Alucard to the dishes. “I’ll set the shield when you return but for now none of us should be alone in the castle.” 

“And outside is fine?” Trevor asks. 

“It’s daylight and there’s a door that leads directly to the courtyard here. Are you telling me the legendary Belmont heir is afraid to be alone?” 

He scoffs at her but yields. 

Sypha watches him go and asks, “Are you well, Alucard?”

“No.” He says tightly.

“We don’t expect you to be.” She tells him quietly.

* * *

 

Trevor returns with their packs and Sypha ventures into sunlight to seal the library. When she returns, they pack their gear into the servants quarters, warded so that no monster can reach them, empty since Alucard left his parents behind to see the world, and his mother ordered his father to travel.

By mutual agreement they press into the castle afterwards, fighting creatures weakened by the sunlight. They fall into battle seamlessly, Trevor calling their attacks and formation, Alucard going over the top, Sypha guarding their backs, drawing her magic into forms that shake the walls and crush their enemies. They distract and protect to her heavy hitter, as easy as a dance they’ve done a thousand times. They don’t falter, don’t get in each other’s way. Battling alongside them feels like coming home. 

Ironic, given the setting. 

They move quickly the castle already partially empty from the creatures the fled after Dracula’s death, and his army left behind is Bralia. They seal rooms behind them with a touch of Sypha’s magic. Its tedious work, made better by the company and the way Belmont and Sypha quibble over how many monsters they’ve killed, each claiming more absurd numbers by the hour. 

When the sun starts to set they return to the kitchens through servants passages, trapping the doors behind them. Alucard was raised with human servants, tempted by the wages his mother offered and a promise that their quarters would be shielded from everything inhuman. Now it means that they have a safe place to retreat to bruised and weary but in better spirits than they started the day. 

Sypha makes dinner as Alucard and Trevor wipe down their weapons, Alucard pulling a sharpening stone from his pack. He loses himself in the mindless task until Sypha calls for help in setting the table and they pile onto dinner like locusts, starving. 

She made them stew, hearty and spicy, served with hunks of steaming bread, and a pat of butter on the side. 

They’re still mostly silent, the enormity of what they’ve done beginning to crash down on them.

Alucard does the dishes, and shows them the washroom where they marvel over the combination of magic and science that supplies a steady flow of hot water. They make Belmont go first, tripping him into the water, soaking him from head to toe. He comes up spluttering, spitting curses, and Alucard laughs a rusty thing, sharp and painful but real. 

When they’re all clean, they move an extra mattress into the largest room, the seneschal’s quarters and take out the bed frame settling the two mattresses side by side on the floor. 

There is no question of them separating, so they collapse into bed, three in a row, Sypha in the middle. 

They’re asleep within minutes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Viable plans only.”

It takes them nine days to clear the castle, working steadily through the floors. It remains tedious exhausting work, punctuated by brief flurries of action. They work from sunrise to sunset, spend the nights in a stupor too tired to think, bruised but only rarely bloodied. It's less fighting any of them expect, the castle having apparently been mostly empty when Sypha summoned it, and more cleaning than they'd like. Still Trevor uses those fights as best he can to learn his companions.

Trevor keeps an eye on them both, waiting for them to hit their limits. He is accustomed to the rigors of this life, spent entirely in motion, threat to threat. This is the best fed he’s been in years, the most consistent sleep he’s had since the church expelled his family from their lands.

But Sypha was the favored granddaughter of the Elder of a tribe of Speakers and while she’s accustomed to traveling, too leaving town early when her people’s welcome was worn thin, she’s not used to this kind of sustained battle. She’s got a thousand tricks for a market, to defuse anger and suspicion, to win a fair deal. She’s got tricks for traveling tired, for being hunted, but was always shielded by her people. But she’s never ground through a campaign in the rain, half starved, surrounded by blood and shit and dead men. Trevor hopes she’ll never have to. It’s the reason she had no problem running to the crypts of Gresit.

Alucard is a different sort of problem, the sort of noble who’s always set Trevors teeth on edge, useless with everything but a blade. He’s never gone hungry before, never cooked a meal, never washed his own clothes. He’s soft in ways that even Sypha is not, trusting. When it eats at him too much, Trevor reminds himself that Alucard had every expectation of an easy life, surrounded by comfort. He’s had servants his whole life, two loving parents, and the rest of eternity to acquire his edge. It’s not his fault that his adolescence came to such an abrupt end. So Trevor handles him like a young man with too little experience and too much energy, pushes him harder than he ought. 

If Alucard is exhausted from leading the charge, he can’t slip off in the night to find a fight that will manage what his father could not and kill him. If he’s the first into a fight than Trevor can cover his back, interfere when he becomes too reckless. 

He manages them the way his mother trained him too, carefully. He is a Belmont of House Belmont, last of the name, leader of men. That his “men” are a half trained Speaker mage, and a vampire prince, is something he tries not to dwell on over long. 

The way they master their exhaustion leaves him proud, but he knows they’ve just suppressed it, pushed it down until they barely feel it. It’ll lead to a collapse when there’s no longer so pressing a threat but for now he allows them that. It’s better than the breakdown he knows is coming when Alucard’s allowed time to think, better than the near coma Sypha will fall into when she’s allowed more than six hours of sleep. Magical exhaustion is a bitch to manage and Sypha’s been riding the edge of it since she pulled the castle to them, with no thought of the consequences. 

He’s been hoarding the sweets he finds in the kitchen, for her recovery, and he’s grateful to this idiotic magical castle that they haven’t had to scavenge for food. 

He’s got peppermint chunks in his pack, a packet of them for precisely this sort of emergency. They’ll hold a mage over until they can get some real rest, he knows from experience but they’re sadly inadequate in the field. 

So when they reach the last tower, the one scattered with Dracula’s ashes, and holding the mechanisms for moving the castle, Trevor’s got a plan. He clears it with the other two and orders a retreat to the kitchens. They don’t fight him on it.

He sends Sypha to the shower first, has Alucard help him assemble a ploughmans lunch. He forces Sypha to eat the largest portion between cups of heavily sugared chamomile tea, cheerfully bullying her into two sandwiches and a pot and a half of the stuff before ordering her to strip. 

She sputters at him, indignant. He cheerfully immortalizes the moment in his head, her eyes spitting sparks, the way her hair curls into her face. 

An innocent, “You don’t want your laundry done?” has her snarling, before she retreats to their room. When he knocks on the door fresh linens in hand, she’s wrapped in a quilt, her clothes in a tidy bundle that scores a direct hit with his face as she chucks it at him. 

In a tone calculated to goad he says, “What is this?”

“My clothes. Since you so kindly volunteered to wash them for me.” She’s got her nose in the air, a good imitation of an offended noble so he sweeps her his deepest bow. 

“As my lady commands.” Which makes her blush, and he watches the red spread to her exposed collarbone. He tears himself away from that, “Help me strip the bed, I’ve got fresh sheets.”

“You’re doing all the laundry?” She asks looking surprised. “I can help.”

“No need.” He says and when she looks to protest, holds up a hand, “Alucard is going to help.”

Sypha swallows what looks like a very promising laugh. “Does he know that?”

“Not yet.”

“Good luck.” 

They strip the bed quickly, throwing Sypha’s bundle onto the sheet, and emptying Trevor and Alucard’s packs of all their clothes. Trevor turns the lot in a bundle folded over, while Sypha remakes the bed and collapses into it. She’s asleep before he leaves the room so he’s careful to close the door quietly behind him. 

Alucard’s finishing up the dishes when he returns with it. He’s got a hard set to his jaw that Trevor doesn’t like, tension coiled in his shoulders. So he steals a page from Sypha’s book and chucks the bundle at Alucard. 

It takes him off guard and he fumbles the catch, dropping it to the floor. 

“What is that?” He asks, nose wrinkled.

“All of our laundry. You do know where the castle laundry is right?” Trevor keeps his tone light, mocking. 

Alucard looks offended, like he hadn’t been able to tell them where the well was. “Of course.”

“Perfect. This is your next lesson in being a real boy, how to do the laundry.” 

His jaw clenches but he nods sharply. 

“Bring your sword.” Trevor tells him as he stoops to pick up the laundry. “I won’t subject you to the indignity of carrying your own laundry but someone should have their hands free.”

He perks up at the thought of a fight and leads the way to a room full of vats for washing. 

The plumbing really is a marvel. There’s a tap that pipes steaming hot water into the vats, and Trevor shakes the laundry out into it, pulling his shirt over his head and adding it last. “Come on Alucard. Throw yours in.”

Alucard hesitates and won’t meet his eyes. 

Trevor snorts. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone shy.”

The makes him move.

Shirt over his head in one long motion and Trevor makes a point of not watching, all the smooth white skin suddenly exposed. 

It’s oddly domestic working alongside another person. Trevor has done this his entire life, in the quiet moments, but since his family was driven out he’s usually done it alone, in the nearest river. They scrub the dirt and blood out of their things, beat the soap out of them, and hang the lot out to dry. 

It’s just gone four when they’re done and Alucard looks relaxed in a way that Trevor barely recognizes. The tension’s gone from his shoulders, and Trevor flicks water at his face, watches him splutter. 

“Come on.” He says. “Lets spar, while the clothes dry.”

He leaves the morning star, replaces it with the whip he’s carried since his mother pressed it into his hands, and the short sword his father forged and they go to war against each other.

Sypha finds them in the entrance hall, still wrapped up in that quilt. 

“Do I need to separate you?” 

Alucard’s breathing hard and Trevor watches him out of the corner of his eye gauging where he’s at. 

“Nah,” he says lazily, “we’re done here.” 

Tomorrow will be harder.

They fall upon dinner like starving animals, and sleep until noon the next day. 

* * *

Tomorrow is harder, though not in the way that Trevor expects. When they cleared the hall that holds the mechanisms that move the castle they had done just that and nothing more. The pained look on Alucard’s face was enough to keep them moving, despite Sypha’s fascination. So when they return in the morning and see ground out gears, it’s an unpleasant surprise.

They poke through the room, watch Alucard cautiously as he steps up to the dais. They wait for the hum that filled the air, the flicker of unreality that precedes the castle’s movement. It doesn’t come.

“Fuck.” Trevor swears, short and heartfelt. “Is it broken?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?”

“It’s never been moved involuntarily before. Sypha, you said it fought you?”

“It fought my magic. Not me.”

“So you broke it.” Trevor says with a snort.

“My magic broke it.” 

“ _Goddamnit_.” Alucard slams a hand down on the mechanism and it shudders, a hint of ozone in the air before the few gears that still moved stutter to a halt. 

“And now Alucard has finished your work.” He says in a snide aside to Sypha. 

Sypha looks like she’s considering lighting him on fire. 

“We’ll need a new plan.”

“I’ll stay.” Alucard says all the tension beat out of him yesterday back in his shoulders. 

Trevor snorts. “Viable plans only.”

He finally looks at them. “How is that plan not viable? As you so kindly pointed out this is my inheritance. It’s my job to care for it.” 

“So you want us to leave you in wreckage of your childhood home to face all comers. What kind of assholes do you take us for?”

This apparently is the breaking point Trevor has been waiting for.

Alucard lunges and he dodges, sword out. He’s carrying the morning star so he leaves it coiled at his side and catches Alucard’s first blow on the edge of his blade. 

“Sure, fighting is the solution to all our problems.” He offers lazily, careful not to show the strain on his face, disengaging with a twist and a shove that sends Alucard stumbling back. He follows through with a move that would gut Alucard if he hadn’t recovered. Still it allows Trevor under his guard, his pointlessly long claymore rendered useless at short range. He presses the advantage, careful to whip out with the flat of his blade. 

It’s a strike his mother favored when he was not attending closely enough to her lessons. It’ll bruise, a short sharp sting, but it’s a strike designed to be more humiliation than hurt. He’s not playing for keeps here, even if Alucard seems to be. It connects, and Alucard snarls leaping back. Since he’s half-vampire that leap covers twenty feet and Trevor rushes to cover the lost ground as Alucard brings the blade around and charges. 

“ENOUGH!” And theres a wall of ice between the two of them. Trevor skids to a stop before he hits it but Alucard is not so lucky. He brings his sword around, dragging it along the marble to break his momentum and hits the ice feet first. He turns it into a twist in the air landing on one knee.

Stupid graceful vampire bastard. 

“You know that’s terrible for the edge right?” Trevor says indicating Alucard’s blade. 

Alucard laughs, hysterically. 

Sypha approaches them cautiously, a gesture in the air evaporating the wall.

Alucard keeps laughing and Sypha drops to her knees beside him, rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Alucard?” 

“Let him be.” Trevor says, taking up the other side.

They stay like that, kneeling, bracketing Alucard as his laughter turns to sobs, deep heaving things that shake his entire body, and tears come. Sypha combs her hands through his hair crooning nonsense in the Speakers language, all soft rolling syllables. Trevor shifts so he’s leaning into Alucard, pressure to ground him and settles into his position. 

They stay there until the tears dry up, until Alucard’s shoulders begin to tense. Grief is unselfconscious but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable taking comfort from them when he recovers himself. 

So Trevor stands, retrieving his sword and sheathing it. He pretends to be fascinated by the machinery as Sypha slips into Wallachian to comfort Alucard. They keep their voices to a low murmur that he does his best to ignore until Alucard stands stiffly before him. 

“I apologize.” He says. 

“What for?” Trevor asks and when Alucard seems to take it as a genuine question rather than Trevor being baffled, adds, “There’s no shame in grief.”

He clasps Alucard on the shoulder, and when doesn’t he move away, leaves his hand there.

“You’ll come through this.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” Trevor lies. 

“As much as I hate to interrupt this tender moment, we do still need a plan.” 

“Fuck off Sypha.” Trevor says automatically.

Alucard snorts quietly and moves away, letting Trevor’s hand drop from his shoulder. “She’s right.”

“Isn’t it a good thing then that we have access to the two best magical libraries in Europe, if not the world?” 

They both look a little dumbfounded at that. 

Trevor snickers, “Did you forget?”

“I think I hate him when he’s right.” Sypha say conversationally to Alucard. 

“Don’t worry. This will probably be the last time we have to worry about that happening.”

“Hey! Still standing right here.”

“Are you?” Sypha asks innocently, batting her eyes. “I didn’t notice. Belmont library or the Castle’s first?”

“Belmont. My father’s library doesn’t have much in the way of magical defenses and what he does have tends to be rather… aggressive. Nothing long term either.”

Alucard offers Sypha an arm, elegant as any courtier and Sypha takes it with a mock curtesy, asking, “Have you read all of your father’s library?”

“Not all of it.” Alucard qualifies and they’re chatting easily about the contents of the Tepes library as they swan off.

“Right.” Trevor says to the empty room, “I’ll get lunch then.”

* * *

 

He serves lunch on a tray, feeling inordinately fond of his companions. Sypha has a stack of book nearly as tall as she is stacked to her left, a discard pile to her right with maybe three books in it, and a rapidly growing stack she deems interesting but not useful currently in front of her.

The Belmont library is organized by topic. The magical protections and wards section lies on the third story, the section separated by one of the bridges smashed in the fight. She’s bullied Alucard into working as her gofer and he’s reading titles on the far side when Trevor approaches. 

As he deposits the tray in front of her, Alucard soars across the gap with a bundle of books under his arms.

They eat mostly in silence, punctuated by requests to pass the mustard and to watch the books please _._

“I’ll take your job.” Trevor says to Alucard when they’re mostly finished. “You and Sypha will be able clear books faster without my help.”

“We have more than enough to work through here.” Sypha says. 

“I don’t have the magical education necessary to tell what would be helpful or not.” 

“Thats a shame,” Alucard says, dry as dust, “given your patrimony consists almost entirely of books.”

“And a whip. It’s my inheritance though, not my patrimony.”

They both look a little confused at that. 

“My mother was the Belmont.” He says.

“I thought your people were patrilineal? It's part of the reason Speakers disguise our children.”

“Wallachia is. The Belmonts are not.” He expands, “The birthright to the Morning Star only passes to the firstborn, and then only on the death of the previous holder. My mother was the heir’s heir for a decade, the heir for seven, and the Belmont for eight.”

“The more I learn about your life Belmont, the more disturbed I am.” 

“Yeah.” Trever says, “But like I said, your dad is _fucking_ Dracula.”

That gets a snort out of him.

Sypha’s been very obviously doing the math in her head and the gasp she cuts off tells them both she’s reached the correct conclusions. 

“I’ve been the Belmont for a decade now Sypha; I’ve already broken the curve.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that a sentence that usually relaxes people where you come from, Belmont?”

Sypha finds the answer four days later, in a book focused on the history of siege warfare. It directs her to a manual on castle construction, which in turns leads to a series on warding, ten volumes total, each of them as thick as a dictionary. 

It’s a treasure trove of knowledge.

Sypha double checks that the series is complete, has Trevor move the lot across the broken bridge. They moved to a clear table on the second day and filled it within hours so she occupies a third table a level up and directs Alucard to her old pile before happily losing herself in the tomes.

She surfaces for air when Trevor brings them dinner and lights the candles around them, suddenly aware of the shifting light. 

“I’ve got it.” She announces, flipping back a book and displaying the ritual that must have created the Belmont’s ward stone. “I think we can use this to lay wards around the castle and the library, especially if we mix it with-“ she rummages through the mess they’ve made and presents them with another book, one better suited for distance and aggression, “this.” 

Trevor asks, “Alucard?"

He scans them quickly. “It might work. We’ll need to build in protective measures to keep them from being breached. And we’ll need a boundary to anchor the whole thing.”

“Alright then. Dinner first, then we’ll get to work.”

* * *

 

Sypha works the whole thing out on parchment, Alucard checking her work, adding the occasional flare to the system. She’s better with magic than he is, finds the systems intuitive. She does the initial blending of the spells, redraws the circle in a way that makes sense to her awareness of magic, builds layers into the shields, He applies a framework to the project that allows them to pull the whole thing together, tinkering with the results, refining the details. 

“My father called it the scientific method.” He tell her over the table after sunset. They’ve been pushing themselves to finish this, harder than they were before they had an answer. They’re racing a clock, trying to get the castle locked up and guarded before vampire society realizes that it stands empty.

Trevor’s been leaving them to the library, taking over cooking while they studied, acted as a mule ferrying books, and bullying them into sleeping regular hours, but that still gives him large amounts of time to fill. Rather than keep them company in between, he’s been disappearing into the woods surrounding the castle. 

He claims the hours are put to more productive use than by hanging round the table doing nothing for them, and with the castle clear the greatest threats to them are all external. 

He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make Sypha miss him any less. They’ve turned themselves into a unit over the past two weeks. It feels wrong to her to separate.

Still, he hasn’t shown up drunk yet so they let him be. 

They’re eaten fresh meat every night for the last week, despite Alucard assuring Trevor that the castle’s pantry would never run out food, never spoil. He’s been careful to save the blood from the animals, presenting it, still warm to Alucard with dinner. 

He’d protested, at first, but they’d argued him into submission, pointing out that once they left the castle they didn’t know when he’d have access to blood again and they couldn’t afford weakness, not right now. 

Trevor always looks away as he drinks it; Sypha never does. She doesn’t know what that says about them as people yet, but she thinks they’ll figure it out sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

When the wards are finished they emerge into late afternoon sunshine to go looking for Trevor, the plans tucked under Sypha’s arm. 

They find him in the courtyard, dressing a rabbit for dinner, a bucket of blood between his feet. He’s turned to the sun, away from them, and Sypha doesn’t resist the opportunity to pounce at his shoulders, laughing, scattering the papers to the ground. 

“We did it!” She cries, as Trevor tries to escape her. 

He stands, keeping a careful hold on the rabbit, dumping Sypha to ground.

“Did what?”

She pouts at him from the ground, “Finished the ward scheme.” 

Alucard stoops to gather her papers as she stands. “We’ll need to mark the boundaries and tie the wards to a central point but the spells are crafted and need only to be cast.” 

“And you two can that?”

“We three.” Sypha says, dusting dirt from her trousers. “You’ll need to participate in the casting too.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” She says firmly, “We won’t be able to tie you into the wards otherwise.”

“Alright then, that might be a problem.” Trevor says, as Alucard straightens and demands, “Why I do smell blood?”

Both of the humans look at him, incredulously. Sypha makes a wordless gesture towards the rabbit and Trevor very lightly taps the bucket of blood with a boot. 

“Human blood.” Alucard clarifies. 

“Relax,” Trevor says immediately, “it’s not mine.”

Both of them stiffen at that. “Is that a sentence that usually relaxes people where you come from, Belmont?”

He rubs a hand against the back of his head, ruffling his hair, sheepish, “Usually yes?”

"My god.” Alucard says, appalled. 

“Whose blood is it then?” Sypha, before they can start another round of bitching at each other. 

“There’s a village about three miles north, that the family used to get supplies from. They were attacked sometime last night. I saw the smoke this morning and went to scout it. The village is gone; razed to the ground.”

“Were there any survivors?” Sypha asks and then immediately says, “No, of course not, you would have pulled us away from the library if there were.”

“None that I could find.” Trevor confirms, “But the fires were nearly dead by the time I got there. That’s hours between the attack and my arrival, and it’s possible they were hiding from me.”

When they look confused at that Trevor adds, “I had the family crest on display.”

Sypha is still confused but Alucard supplies, “Villagers, pitchforks, torches?”

“Yes.”

“Was there any sign of what attacked them?”

“Night creatures; they even managed to kill a few. I’d be impressed if I didn’t remember training their children how to fight.”

“We cleared the castle.” 

“Then they must have been outside it.” Trevor condescends.

“The castle was mostly empty when it arrived.” Sypha points out, “And as long as they had somewhere to shelter during the day the army could have survived.  Would his army know that your father is dead?” 

“I don’t know.” Alucard say slowly. “It would depend on who raised them.”

“And if they didn’t know would they come here?” 

“I think they’d come either way. If know they’ll come in the name of whoever controls them now and if they don’t know they’ll come in his name.” 

“And that’s going to be the problem. How long will it take to raise the wards?”

“Half an hour once we’ve set all the ward stones, but we need to mark the boundaries, and set five stones- a central one, and one on each of the cardinal directions. That’s at least two days of work.” Sypha supplies.

“Boundaries are already marked.” Trevor says, and then defensively, when they look at him in surprise, “I haven’t _just_ been fucking around in the woods for the past week. I know if we were setting wards we need boundaries eventually.”

“Good.” Sypha says, “I’ll need to check and make certain they work with the spell we built, while you two find stones to set.”

“It’s too late in the day to cover the entire property before sundown.” Trevor says.

“Then I’ll start tomorrow. Let’s see if we can find stones we can use before then.”  


Between the wreckage from the Belmont library and the stones littering the castle from their fights they assemble a number of stones that will serve their purpose in the courtyard before sundown. 

Sypha shoos her boys away from her and sets to work carving them. She’s cheating, doing this bit with magic, but none of them is a stonemason and they don’t have time to find one, so she focuses and directs her will. The first three shatter before she figures out the trick of it, how apply a little finesse to the flow of her thoughts. After that it goes easier and she applies the runes necessary to each stone. 

She’s putting the final touches on the central ward stone, as tall as she is and four times as wide when Trevor brings her dinner, and tells her they’ll be camping above the library until the wards are set.

The boys have already moved their gear outside, pitched tents, set a fire for the night. She’s grateful. Carving the ward stones was harder work than she expected and she’s ready to fall into her tent and sleep.

Trevor fusses at her until she finishes her dinner, informs her that she doesn’t have to keep a watch tonight, and when she starts drowsing in front of the fire shakes her until she moves to her bedroll. 

She’s asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

* * *

Sypha is awoken by the sounds of fighting. It’s hardly the first time that’s happened in her life, so she’s up and alert in seconds, a fireball forming at her fingertips, the dagger she keeps on hand already bare.

She’s cautious, leaving her tent, and pulling on her boots but Alucard and Trevor have moved the fight outside of their camp. They’re using the ruins of the Belmont Manor to contain the fight, and she pulls her magic back beneath her skin and creeps up behind the fight. It’s clear they already thinned the ranks of their enemies by the carnage that litters the ground.

Alucard has engaged the largest night creature, twice as tall as he is with horns that curl like a goats and wings that shouldn’t be large enough even get it in the air. Trevor’s handling a handful of lesser demons from the second story of ruins wielding the morning star to catch himself when a wall crumbles beneath him. He turns the fall into a swing that allows him to kick one out the air and bury his blade into the chest of another.

Sypha takes a moment to mark her targets before stepping out of cover. 

She’s best at long range, particularly with the element of surprise on her side. Give her enough time to build a spell and a focus and Sypha can move the world. Since all she needs to do now is incinerate a handful of night creatures she only takes a moment to focus and build her magic before stepping out behind them and launching a barrage of fireballs. 

They all hit their targets but only two actually kill the creatures they hit. Still it’s an effective distraction as Trevor hits the highest point of his swing and snaps the morning star free, wrapping the whip around a flying demons leg and whipping it into another, the ball at the end cutting deep into both. Trevor leaps clear as they explode, and Sypha throws a bit of magic underneath him to break his momentum as he falls.

Alucard’s used her distraction to gut and behead his demon and between the three of them they make short work of the remainder. 

“Did that seem too easy to you?” Trevor asks.

“Not as easy as the party we took out on the way here.” Sypha replies, prodding the dismembered corpse of a night creature with a booted foot. 

“None of them fled the fight.” Alucard points out. “Which answers the question of whether they know my father is dead or not and the question of whether they have a new master.”

“No idea?”

“None. No new master either.”

“Good news for us.” Trevor says pragmatically, wiping his sword down. “Do you think that’s all for tonight or should we expect another attack?”

“Best to expect another attack.” Alucard, surveying the mess, a hint of a whine entering his voice as he adds, “We just got the place clean too.”

“There’s a reason we’re sleeping outside.” Sypha says, “We should wait until morning to deal with the mess though.”

He sighs deeply. “It’s probably my watch by now too, isn’t it?”

Trevor claps hims on the shoulder, in mock sympathy, as Sypha laughs. 

“You’ll survive.” She promises as they return to camp. 

“Yes,” Alucard says, “I’m starting to think that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Chapter 3 was delayed 'cause of mental health stuff and also 'cause I could not get the _goddamn_ thing to settle. I edited it approximately eight million times, rewrote it start to finish twice, and still don't love it. It's terribly transitional. C'est la vie. I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> I'm going to be posing every other wednesday from here on out, so Feb 6th for the next chapter.
> 
> Finally I'm on [dreamwidth](https://opensummer.dreamwidth.org/) you want to come say hi

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [dreamwidth](https://opensummer.dreamwidth.org/) if you want to say hi, and comments always make me happy.


End file.
